Rest
by Spy for the Right
Summary: Love is a power so strong that it's capable of destruction and healing. But for some people, all it's capable of is frightening someone.


Don't own anything you recognize. Please review. Love, Spy For The Right.

* * *

Harry sat on his bed in the Gryffindor seventh years' dorm room, his holly wand lying on his lap as he closed his eyes, taking deep, calming breaths.

_The Dark Lord has challenged me to a duel, and I accepted._

_But can I truly murder Tom?_

Tom. That seemed right. For him, at least. He looked like Tom again in private, except with eyes as red as blood. Voldemort stood for murder, for death and damnation, for pain, and for misery. While Tom ... Tom stood for soft smiles and passionate kisses. Tom stood for caring eyes and breathing in his scent when he lay down next to him. But, perhaps the most important, Tom stood for no expectations.

He looked towards the door, behind which he could hear the Gryffindors already partying, celebrating the defeat that had yet to happen.

_But will it ever? _He questioned himself, his emerald eyes indecisive. _Can I kill Tom?_

He already knew the answer. It lay before him, clear as the sky. No. No, he could not. And even as he stood up and walked towards the door, he smiled to himself.

* * *

Crimson eyes watched him as he stepped through the doors onto the clear green grass, his wand in hand. Behind him, shouts of encouragement followed him out, but he ignored them all. They reached his ears only as expectations and hopes, all folding on his shoulders until he could almost literally feel the weight of it slowing him down.

''Tom,'' he muttered loud enough for his opponent to hear once he was within 15 feet of the other. His emerald eyes looked deep into the crimson ones, seeing past the glamours and into the face he knew so well. He saw an overwhelming sadness in the red eyes, but also something else. Fear, he supposed. Fear of what Harry could do to him, fear of the unknown.

* * *

Tom truly loved Harry. With his entire heart.

And that scared him.

He'd faced dangers many would flee from, he _was_ a danger all fled from. Yet this little boy, this green-eyed angel could make him feel afraid, not simply for his life, but for having to live it out on his own.

He'd challenged him to a duel, half hoping he would refuse. But he made one fatal mistake. While Harry would have refused, he sent the challenge when he was with his House. And like the Gryffindors they were, they expected Harry to fight - and win.

But what he saw in those emerald eyes wasn't determination, or anger, or anything that might insinuate the other was going to participate in the duel. It was bravery, and a look that told anyone who looked at him that he accepted his fate, not because he didn't _have_ another choice, but because he simply didn't want to make it. But most importantly, he saw love.

No, it was more than love. It made his eyes burn with an unlit fire, it helped him stand and made his knees weak at the same time. It was the kind of love only Harry could feel, and Tom spared a moment to be grateful for the gift that he'd been granted and another to be sad that the gift of Harry's love was wasted on someone like him.

''Drop your glamours,'' His angel begged and he complied without thought. A small smile crossed Harry's face and he took the remaining steps to him. Their hands joined and Harry turned around, leaning against his chest, looking at the ground. Tom's hands came to rest on his shoulders.

''Rest, Harry,'' he murmured into his ear, having seen exhaustion in his eyes. Harry turned around and smiled sadly.

''I will,'' he said in a small voice, tears making his eyes shine. ''Soon.''

Tom didn't answer. Instead, he leaned forward to capture Harry's lips with his own, his eyes open, trying to apologize to Harry through his eyes alone. He tried to pour all he felt into it, and he sincerely hoped his eyes expressed what his mouth never could. Harry didn't close his eyes, either, instead memorizing everything he could from Tom's. The tears disappeared to be replaced with a mixture of misery and love.

Softly, almost lovingly, Tom caressed Harry's neck, wrapping his long fingers around it. They tightened until he felt Harry grow still, his eyes glazing over. He gently put the boy down into the grass, running his hands through the dark hair.

''I'm sorry,'' he said softly. ''Rest, Harry.''


End file.
